


The Joker

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balin remembers a long time ago, once upon a time, when Bifur talked more than his younger cousin does now and was three times more amusing too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joker

The fireside was quiet, most of the company having already bedded down for the night, and those who hadn’t talking in whispers so that they did not disturb the sleepers. Balin had offered to keep the first watch and so watch he did; Master Bilbo was pottering around on the other side of the clearing, his pipe tucked firmly between his teeth as he finished washing the bowls in the brook. He was humming softly, the tune just loud enough that it attracted the attention of Fili and Kili who were sat up too, and they glanced at the hobbit with small smiles. They were growing very fond of their burglar. 

The only other dwarf still awake was Bifur and he watched Bilbo too, his head swaying slightly in time with the tune. When he was finished, Bilbo walked past Bifur and the dwarf growled something. Bilbo didn’t know what had been said, of course, but he nodded and smiled, patting Bifur’s shoulder as though he understood perfectly. Bifur smiled in return and settled down in his bedroll. Fili and Kili followed his lead and soon Balin was alone, with only the soft snores of his friends for company. His eyes flickered regularly around the clearing, into the darkness that surrounded them, but the night was quiet and there was unlikely to be an attack this close to elven lands. For some reason, on that night, he found himself gazing speculatively at Bifur.

Balin remembers a long time ago, once upon a time, when Bifur talked more than his younger cousin does now and was three times more amusing too. He had stories for every occasion, jokes he knew would only serve to give people cheer and an impeccable timing for dealing them out too. Many a dark and dreary night had been cheered by what Bifur had to offer. He could even make Thorin laugh…

_“And then I said, laddie, I’m sorry but what you’ve got there is a carrot!”_

_The tale ended with a flourish and there was an explosion of laughter around the fireplace. The public house was frequented by Men and Dwarf alike, and was one of the few places where Balin had felt comfortable with Men-folk. All too often the wandering dwarves were treated like criminals, outcasts, good for nothing except a few days mining work or a few hours in the forge for half the pay of a Man. This little village though, close to the Blue Mountains, had always been remarkably welcoming and employed a good many of the dwarfs on a regular basis._

_There was a small gathering now, of dwarves and men, hanging eagerly onto every word being said by Bifur, one of the mining family who had attached themselves to the dwarves of Erebor claiming a tie to the kingdom that they had proved with an extensive family tree going back eleven generations. Nalin, husband to the lady Dís, had been delighted to find that they were in fact distantly related to him and since then they had been accepted as slightly eccentric cousins, unrelated to the line of Durin but welcome nonetheless._

_Bifur was by far the largest personality of them all, a miner and toymaker of nearly the same age as Balin himself and sole guardian to his young cousins Bofur and Bombur. Bifur never told anyone what had happened to the boys’ parents and no one ever asked, not since the first time someone had dared to and Bifur’s seemingly permanent smile had twisted to a scowl that rivalled those of Thorin himself._

_The black mood had not lasted though. They never did._

_“Tell us another one, Bifur-lad,” one of the Men said, and the whole group nodded their agreement._

_Balin, perched on one of the dwarf-size stools that the landlord had thoughtfully installed, watched from his place at the bar. Dwalin was one of the dwarfs encircling Bifur, having drifted over from Balin’s side, and cousin Glóin was there too. Young Bofur was sat on the floor next to his cousin’s chair and Bifur’s hand occasionally strayed down to tug affectionately at the boy’s braids. Bombur wasn’t there, probably being looked after by one of the other members of the clan._

_“Another one, hmm?” Bifur furrowed his brow but couldn’t keep the wicked grin from his face, “You’re going to bleed me dry one of these days. Let me think-”_

_The door to the pub crashed open and Thorin stood in the doorway, illuminated by the moonlight. The room hushed for a second, until the landlord called his greeting._

_“Thorin! Same as usual, son?”_

_“Aye.”_

_The talk returned easily to the room and Thorin made his way over to Balin. He took a stool next to Balin and leaned moodily on the bar, staring for a long while in silence at the drink the landlord placed in front of him. Balin knew better than to enquire as to what was wrong and so he sat just as quietly. Thorin only acted aggressively when he was upset – when he was angry he stalked around as though he were a spirit – and when he was upset he was impossible._

_Behind them, the group was murmuring amiably whilst Bifur took a moment to think of a new story, and then Balin heard him say, “How about one we’ve had before, lads? This is a good one, I promise.”_

_Something in his voice caught Balin’s attention and he half turned in his seat. Bifur had begun, a long and complicated narrative about a Man he had once known who thought that you could make gold, of all the things. It was a good one, one of the funniest he had and, as it happened, a particular favourite of Thorin’s._

_Occasionally, Bifur’s eyes flickered over to the bar, to Thorin’s hunched shoulders and he raised his voice enough that soon half the pub was listening. Balin risked a glance at Thorin, understanding what Bifur was trying to do, and saw that the lines of worry that had been creasing his face were slowly smoothing out. Balin nodded at Bifur who grinned and carried on, embellishing the story even more than he had before. Thorin’s shoulders dropped and the landlord put another drink in front of him and by the end of the story he had turned around to watch Bifur with a glint of amusement in his dark eyes and a small smile on his lips._

_“And that’s the last I saw of him, poor bugger. His eyebrows never were the same.”_

_There was a round of laughter and even a smattering of applause. Bifur stood on his chair and bowed, his eye catching Thorin’s as he jumped down._

Bifur turned in his bedroll, muttering to himself, and Balin was tugged back to the clearing, a little ashamed at how little attention he had been paying to what was going on when he was supposed to be on guard. He hadn’t thought of those days in that little pub for a long time. It was too painful, almost like losing home all over again, but it is perhaps the saddest loss of all that Bifur is no longer that dwarf. 

A handful of them could understand him still, though his thick accent and archaic language was far beyond the younger ones, but the day that the orc had buried his axe in Bifur’s skull he had taken more than his voice. He had taken a whole part of Bifur that had once known all these great tales, that had once known exactly what to say and when to say it. 

Bofur remembers some of the stories from when he was very small and sat at his cousin’s side. He occasionally retells them around the fires at night, but Balin can only think that it is so unfair – so unfair - that Bifur is the only one who has never heard them before.

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of Bifur-feels, ok?


End file.
